


I Like it Better (when I know it’s something bad for me)

by tukimecca



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Johnny is smitten, M/M, Yuta sleeps with everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 22:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9627695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tukimecca/pseuds/tukimecca
Summary: Johnny is professional bodyguard with unprofessional imagination about his client who happened to be ten years younger than him. Well, his client is technically Choi Sooyoung, but her young and cute manager is still Johnny’s client





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shharu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shharu/gifts).



_Over we go, some like it hot but I like it cold_   
_Now you’re spinning me out, round and round_ _  
_ Like a kiss of the bullet when you shoot me down

Kiss of a Bullet – Diana Vickers

:::

“I’m fucked up, man,” Johnny sighs, dramatic, dropping thick, cream-colored manila folder on his desk with a loud _bump_ that startles snoring Yuta awake. He would have given the red haired man dirty look if not for his current predicament. Heart stuffed. Throat cottony. Another sigh escapes his lips; tired, worn, but contended. Yuta blinks at him, more an attempt to bat sleepiness away than natural reaction to Johnny’s theatrical antics.

“What the fuck?” The younger mumbles, confused and not so eloquent. Johnny’s braces his arms on the back of his dark blue swiveling chair, finger curling around the worn material. Another sigh, then Yuta sits up straight this time, wiping his eyes with his knuckles, and repeats, “the fuck?”

“I don’t understand how did you get Hansol to sleep with you,” Johnny grimaces at his co-worker’s seemingly limited vocabulary.

“Because I fucked good?” Yuta supplies, voice loud enough to make Mark who sits two empty desks away to Yuta’s left, spills some of his coffee on his keyboard. “And, it’s _slept,_ not sleep. I’m with Sicheng now, man. How could you forget? Not cool.”

Johnny throws Mark apologetic look even though he is not feeling sympathetic at all. His heart is, afterall, in much more dire situation. And it’s not like Yuta was never crude anyways. “Don’t get me start at that, too. God, Sicheng was _bright_ , apparently not enough when it comes to men.”

Yuta arches his brows, looking at him with unconcealed amusement, “right back at’cha,” he grins. “You used to fucked him.”

This time, Mark drops his dark-green cup, with dull clatter. Dark brown liquid spilling all over white, linoleum floor. Thankfully, it’s not carpet. Thankfully, the cup is plastic. But Mark doesn’t look thankful at all, his face is pale, safe for his bright, vivid red cheeks. Johnny  cringes, and is about to chide Yuta when Hansol unforgivingly slaps the back of Yuta’s head with folded clear file, hard.

“Fuck!” Yuta hollers but Hansol lands another blow, this time on his shoulder. Mark who is wiping the floor with tissue looks decidedly grateful for Hansol’s nicely timed appearance, at least there’s someone to keep Yuta’s too loose tongue in check now. Johnny shares the same sentiment, giving the young man another apologetic smile.

“I don’t think that’s something you should be talking about here,” the big-eyed man says icily, voice dropping low to zero that Johnny can almost feel corporeal chill skittering down his skin. “Even if you were,” he adds before smacking Yuta’s left cheek, earning himself another pained hiss which seems to satsifies him. He turns at Johnny, patronizing eyes, and, _oh,_ large, brown eyes. “And you, I’d appreciate if you keep your horses in your pants when you’re talking to client next time. I want the MoM to be send to my e-mail before five.”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” Johnny complies, straightening himself despite the anchoring weight in his heart. Hansol gives him stern look, one that speaks of caution and lingers for fraction of seconds too long before he walks away from them, giving Mark a pat on his back then leaves the room with not-so-quiet slam of dark and heavy door.

Johnny and Mark share a look. Yuta moans, rubbing the three, reddening, sore spots.

The silence lasts for a while and is broken by Mark’s tense nod, but his shoulders are visibly relaxing, and Johnny, as he sends Mark another smile that speaks of apology and pleas of mercy for the third time in the span of five minutes, mentally swears to buy the poor guy coffee tomorrow.

“What’s wrong with him, he was the one who broke it off with me,” Yuta groans, stretching his neck from side to side, brows knitting together. Johnny is one hundred percent sure it’s more because his head is still aching from earlier abuse instead of seriously mulling over Hansol’s behavior.

“I actually think it’s called for. You’re not supposed to talk about your sex life in the office,” Johnny drops his voice to half-whisper, careful not to startle Mark again.

Yuta gives him nonplussed look then points out, “you started it.”

Fuck. “Yeah, I guess I kind of did,” Johnny admits, not regretful at all. Then he suddenly remembers the meeting he just had, and a pair of startling-chocolate eyes, rich and velvety, dark and deep. “Fuck, I’m one hundred percent fucked.”

“By who? Taeil?”

Johnny’s head conjures the image of Taeil; highly-raised chin, ramrod-straight spine, clumsy fingers, and dark brown pupils. His head also supplies him with the Taeil’s moan, hot on his ears, as Johnny fucked him against the back of Taeil’s apartment door, hard and fast.

It was Yuta’s birthday, also the day when Yuta announced that he is exclusively Sicheng’s. Taeil is the epitome of discipline and self-restraint, but the way his gaze always lingered with fondness as much as anxiety when they found Yuta was hard to miss by Johnny’s perceptible eyes. He had drunk himself stupid, barely able to discern his phone and glass, Johnny felt sorry, and for the very same reason, he offered to take the always composed man home. And offered his body while he was at it.

Taeil had woken up first the next day while Johnny drooled all over his pillow. They calmly agreed that it was one-time thing, simple and fuss-free. Five hours after, they worked together for a client as effective and efficient as always, no post-morning after syndrome hitching their dynamics while they kept watchful eyes to guard their clients.

Taeil is beautiful, even with his ungainly limbs and smooth, rich-velvet voice. He is almost regal, in a way merciful queen is. Their newest client who just had Johnny sporting a semi in meeting reminds him of Taeil; timeless, striking beauty. Long lashes, slim fingers, red lips, silky ebony hair, and white-porcelain skin. But what got Johnny’s lips dry are his bright, borderline gold, dark-amber eyes.

Johnny fears his meeting resume because he spent about 80% of the meeting imagining those red, blooming lips wrapped around his cock, and equally wet eyes looking up at him, dark and blown. “I’m fucked.”

“I know Taeil is good at bottoming, but I didn’t know he can top good, too,” Yuta whistles, suddenly looking serious.

Johnny gives whim withering look while mentally crowning him ‘The Biggest Jerk on The Planet’. “No, no, it wasn’t Taeil. We only fucked once, and I topped.”

Then Johnny proceeds to tell him about the meeting that got him totally whipped. Tells Yuta about his childhood friend who apparently happened to be Korean rising actress in Hollywood; Choi Sooyoung. How she had come with her young manager who is as alluringly beautiful as she is; Ten. How Ten had made Johnny squirming through the whole meeting, trying as best as possible to quell down the poorly-timed excitement between his laps. He decides not to tell Yuta about Ten’s sinful lips, just in case.

“Well, fuck him,” is, of course, Yuta’s advice. Johnny peers behind Yuta’s shoulder to see Mark already leaving his seat.

“That’s unprofessional,” Johnny half-groan, half-sighs. He has fucked as much people as he guarded in his career as bodyguard, but none of them was his clients. Coworkers probably, but that’s because they have known each other long enough and their bosses had indirectly told them it is okay to.

“You are supposed to protect Sooyoung-noona, not her bodyguard,” Yuta points out.

A part of Johnny’s heart chirps in agreement, elated. Reasonable part of him, however, is less forgiving. “Still a client,” his heart deflates, his mind nods at him triumphantly.

“Well, fuck him, still,” Yuta repeats his unhelpful advice, leaning far back that his chair creaks. “I’m sure Sooyoung-noona won’t mind, she loves great fuck, too.”

Johnny tries not to imagine Yuta and the embodiment of goddess fuck, tries not to ask Yuta to elaborate about it either. Instead, he groans, smothers his face with his palm. Defeated, he says weakly, “she would. What would you think of 35 years old man fucking someone ten years younger than him?”

:::

Ten is 25, Choi Sooyoung had revealed when she was telling them her story about how her old manager had been fired for throwing some of money she’s supposed to receive under his own table. Ten is the younger brother of Sooyoung’s stylist, joined the agency for barely a year when Sooyoung decides he is cut to be her manager. Despite the objections rising here and there, in just four months of working for her, Ten has managed to get Sooyoung the most amount of sleep in between flurries of her busy schedule, and possible future project with French director. In short, he is excellent, hard-worker, and young, _very_ young and _very_ naive that he had blushed at the mention of sex scene, according to Sooyoung.

Johnny got impossibly hard that he had to move his laptop on top of his lap to hide his, as Hansol had put it, _horse_.

Ten is 25, is young, is naive, and is still possibly virgin. And Johnny was born 3650 days earlier than him, positively smitten with the honey-eyed _boy_ , and still cannot wipe the image his creative mind had painted in his head when Ten was negotiating with Hansol about the term of their contract. He sends his report at four forty eight then leaves to the bathroom, ignoring the cheeky grin and knowing look Yuta sends his way.

“Enjoy yourself~” The elder man said.

He huffs, cheeks red, and this time, doesn’t ignore his partner. “Fuck you.”

Johnny jerks himself in the fourth stall, mouth gaping open as his head recreates the fantasy that had plagued his mind half an hour ago. When he comes all over his fingers, Ten’s glassy, luscious-brown eyes are burning behind his closed lids.

:::

He doesn’t know a thing about fashion but he knows he _hates_ skinny jean. With passion that’s as raw and scorching as his blood when he sees Ten’s long, slender legs are wrapped in those sinful fabric. Johnny is suddenly determined to find whoever invented it in the first place and puts his years of professional training into practice.

“Good morning, Johnny-hyung,” Ten greets him, polite but not cordial enough. Johnny feels his heart chipping on the edge because all he wants is for Ten to be on his knees- _okay_ , he just want Ten to be a little bit more friendly. Totally not to justify Johnny’s dirty imagination, but because they’re going to work together.

“Good morning,” Johnny pauses, quickly weighs the pros and cons before settling with, “Ten.”

Ten looks at him, startled red on Johnny’s teetering blue. His lips hangs open soundlessly and Johnny’s mind works extremely quick, whipping another lewd episode in bright, vivid color inside his head. Johnny knows he is supposed to worry about how he is sexualizing someone who’s ten years younger than him although he is technically an adult.

 _Ten years_ , and Johnny’s morale is bulldozed flat the second Ten averts those hypnotizing gaze away from Johnny, lowering his impossibly long lashes demurely, voice quiet when he says, “Sooyoung-noona will be here in the minute.”

 _Oh_ , Johnny struggles to get even a square of air to his lungs. Ten lets him. Permission. Acceptance. Consent. Johnny gulps, feeling his throat dry and parched; _submission_. “That’s good,” he manages to say, voice rough around the edge.

“She is punctual,” Ten adds, Johnny is still distracted with the length of Ten’s lashes. He is imagining those lashes flutter close when he shoves his dick deep down Ten’s velvety throat when Ten speaks again, “in fact, very strict about time. I was only three minutes late on my first day because I was too nervous, she was not very pleased.”

His cheeks are tinted now, a shy smile curling on his lips, and, fuck, Johnny’s dress pants suddenly feels too tight for the moment. He swallows, tries to shut down his creative mind to respond properly, because Ten is attempting to make civil conversation with him, and isn’t this what he wanted? “I can imagine, I heard about her from Yuta-hyung. She is the only person in this world who could get him round up.”

“Yuta-hyung?” Ten looks questioningly at him, big, doe eyes. Too much, Johnny swallows again, shifts on his legs. It’s too _fucking_ much. “Oh, yes, Sooyoung-noona’s friend. I heard about him, too. Hard to imagine she can befriend someone like him actually,” he narrows his eyes disapprovingly. Johnny wonders how much he had heard about Yuta, hopefully more about the elder’s infamous childish antics than his sexual ones. “But Sooyoung-noona trusts him with her life, so I guess he is good, at least in what he does. Hansol-hyung is great man, too.”

Johnny cannot help but blurts, “what about me?”

Ten looks at him again, calculating. Johnny calculates too, how long he can holds himself back from either excusing himself to the bathroom for a quick jerk off or grabbing Ten and pressing their bodies flush together. The moment seems to stretch forever, and so does Johnny’s patience. Those pair of honeyed-amber zeroing on him, focusing on him like Johnny is the only object existing in this planet worthy of those bewitching.

He is heady with need, eternally grateful that the weather is chill enough to give him excuse to wear trench coat, helping him to conceal his hard on. Still, Johnny squirms, drops his gaze to his leather boots and traces the criss-cross of black laces to distract himself, bashful grin on his face. “Forget it, it’s silly.”

“You are good,” Ten says. His voice is calm like morning light. Sure like dropping stone. There is a certain weight in his voice that tells Johnny he sincerely means it, and it sends Johnny’s heart catapulting across the sky. Johnny finds his cheek pinkening. He had been praised for his work before but this is the first time his heart races mile because of it.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, in relief, in gratitude. He hopes his earnestness reaches Ten, and apparently it does because Ten is smiling at him, genuine, timidness gracing the edge. Johnny’s bones sing in elation and delight. Heart constricted painfully alive. “I swear I will protect her with my life.”

“Thank you,” Ten says just as earnest. Their eyes meet and Johnny is absorbed in observing the flecks of gold in those caramel eyes to notice the flushing of Ten’s cheeks.

Once again, Ten averts his gaze, his lashes cast shy whisper of shadow on his skin. Johnny longs to kiss each and every strand of them, but before he can inhale a lungful of air to save himself from his nearly drowning state, the door opens. Choi Sooyoung enters, smelling strongly of orchid and spring air, and the magic is broken. Yuta is trailing behind her, coat slung on his right shoulder, blazer unbuttoned, and a tote bag is latched on his elbow; no doubt Sooyoung’s.

“Good morning,” the actress greets them with polite and too perfect 90 degrees bow. When she raises, her smile is as bright as April’s sun but in Johnny’s eyes, Ten’s smile is ten times more dazzling, brilliance that illuminate mid-summer sky.

“Good morning, Sooyoung-noona,” Ten greets back in return but he doesn’t bow. Johnny echoes him, throat still dry  and pants still too tight. Yuta is giving him interested look from behind Sooyoung’s shoulder but doesn’t say anything. “Shall we go?”

Johnny offers to drive, because it’s the only thing that could get his mind off the gutter. He suddenly worries if he can finish this mission in peace. One last glance at the high-nosed boy, and his mind is already spiraling. Yep, he’s fucked.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Johnny! Here's your birthday fic with no birthday at all lol I'm soo ready to be bombarded with johnten tomorrow. I don't know if I'll ever write a continuation to this, but let's hope time is kind enough to me. No actual smut, HA, are you expecting? At least Johnny has creative mind to makeup for that ;)


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